Quite Comfortable
by darthsydious
Summary: Based on a post featuring a painting by Auguste Toulmouche 'In the Library'. Molly Hooper slips away from a party to do some light reading. Sherlolly, Victorian!lock, arranged marriage.


Slipping away from one's party was no easy thing. Thank heavens Lord and Lady Holmes generosity knew no bounds and the guest list was incredibly long. Long and full of very dull people with very dull conversation. Molly was adept at disappearing whenever it suited her. In the crush of the ballroom, just as the men were growing tipsy and ladies were giggling behind their sherries and cordials, and the orchestra was priming again, Molly quietly slipped from the crowds.

Out in the still hall, she lost no time, picking up her skirts, keeping the train of her blue taffeta looped over her arm (the blasted thing rustled so one would think it was lined with newspaper).

All large houses were the same. Ballroom were always on the ground floor or the first floor (depending on if they had a veranda to the palatial grounds), dining rooms were always on first, and libraries were always on second, and occupied two or three floors.

As cavernous as a ballroom, libraries in great houses were always stocked with lovely distractions. The Holmes' library was no different, with the exception that the younger son held an interest in chemistry, physics and all manners of fascinating subjects that one may not find in just any library. While the younger Holmes had a penchant for getting under Molly Hooper's skin, he also had the intriguing ability to pique her interest, not only in himself (he was a veritable firecracker, ready to burst with information she had yet to truly ponder) but also in the world outside of society's glittering, gilded circles.

Slipping off her satin shoes,she carried them by the heels, rustling softly down the upstairs halls, at last finding the library. That peerless room in all houses!

Opening the door just wide enough to allow herself in, she left it ajar, to allow to hear for anyone coming.

With breathless delight, she hurried to the index drawers, flipping hurriedly through the cards.

"Ahah! _Steels Series in the Natural Sciences-"_ Armed with the shelf number, she set her shoes down, leaving them by the door. Peeling off her gloves, she left them on a nearby table, finding her selection exactly where it should have been. With a quick glance behind her (the noise of the ball and party-goers below her was muffled, though now and again a peal of laughter made it's way up to her) she opened the slim volume.

She lost track of time. She forgot how long she'd been standing there, forgot all about the party below, the fact that the party was actually for her, that it was celebrating her engagement.

"Miss Hooper,"

the gentle voice pulled her from the book, and she looked up, finding her face was flushed with embarrassment. It was, after all, not a good impression to run out of your own engagement party, especially when it's your first time meeting your inlaws.

Instead of a frown, her fiance's expression softened, and his eyes, those wickedly sharp, clever eyes that belonged to the Holmes' clan, seemed to dance as they regarded her.

"I see you have found my chemistry books," Sherlock said; he gave a quick glance to the dimly lit hallway and then stepped inside.

"Yes I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run off but-"

"It's rather a habit with you, do you not like parties?"

"No more than you do," she replied, and both smiled, recalling all too vividly their first meeting. He'd spent the evening purposefully treading on her shoes, and then disappearing after dinner, giving a flimsy excuse. Their engagement was an arranged one, and while both of them had managed to come around to the idea of being married to each other, it still grated on their nerves to be made to do something neither felt was entirely necessary.

"Yes well...if in the future, say, our wedding party, you feel the urge to slip away...to the library or...the gardens or the apiary, do let me know. I promise to do the same for you."

Her pink mouth turned upwards into a smile Sherlock would come to view as his favorite. He'd come to realize she held so many lovely expressions, but that particular smile when she was flattered, when she was caught off-guard, was his favorite. It was not easy to catch Molly Hooper off-guard, it made the effort worth it.

"You'd better come and join the party, or they'll think we're off doing married things before the wedding," he said at last, and he looked at her skirts, the train of her gown still up over her arm, revealing the hems of her stiffly starched petticoats.

"Oh!" she dropped her train, straightening her skirts. "Yes I-" she still held the book. "May I borrow this? I'd like to finish it."

"Of course," he answered quickly, almost breathlessly. It was almost too much for Sherlock to believe, his fiancee was reading his chemistry books, reading and enjoying them. She was positively _engrossed_ when he came upon her a moment ago. It had been a shame to spoil such a private moment, but he felt as if he turned away, he'd spoil a chance at an even lovelier moment. He'd remember that beautiful picture forever, Molly Hooper in her stocking-feet, train of her taffeta ballgown wrapped around her bare arm as she poured over a natural sciences book. What a lovely picture.

Lovlier was giving his arm, balancing her as she stepped into her shoes. He caught sight of the embroidery on the ankle of her silk stockings, pink and green silk work in some fancy scrolling floral on the instep and ankle. He'd remember that too. He wondered if her other effects had such fancy work. He squelched that thought down, finding the tips of his ears burning at the thought. A year ago he'd scoff at the idea of being engaged, now...seeing the woman who held onto his arm, wriggling her fingers into her gloves, now he didn't mind so much.

"Shall we?"

"To the hounds?" she asked cheekily, and he grinned, chuckling.

"When we're married, we'll live in London, I've found a very nice bit of property, on Baker Street. Nothing too grand, of course, but well away from the ruder portion of society."

"As long as there is a library, I'll be happy."

"Will you?" he asked after a moment, closing the library door behind them.

She looked up at him, the lamplight in the hall casting a warm light over him.

"Yes I think so. I think we'll both be quite comfortable together."

When people said 'comfortable', they usually meant in a material manner, a 'comfortable income', a 'comfortable living', etcetera. When Molly said it, Sherlock knew exactly what she meant. They were comfortable with each other, in each other's presence. There was a wordless communication with them that was particularly poignant.

"Quite comfortable." he murmured. He covered her hand with his own, and at last tore his gaze from her, leading her back down to the crowded ballroom.


End file.
